Beliefs
by yellowvalley
Summary: Ryan's inner musings on how his life has changed. rated for language just to be safe. unbetaed.


Ryans' thoughts. Season two. Maybe... around Chrismakkuh?

I don't own the characters. If I did, season 2 would be totally different.

Oh! unbetaed. so any mistakes are totally mine and seeing as how it's 3am and i just wrote this in about 25 minutes, i'm sure they are a-plenty. I'll just be happy if it even makes sense. :)

review please!

I've believed they were wrong before.

My Mother. My Father. Trey. My teachers. Neighbors.

They said I was white trash. Scum. Just a punk kid from Fresno, who would never amount to anything; be anything more than they were. Maybe even less. If I even lived that long.

I was young then. When your six to nine years old, you have dreams. I dreamt of a bright future. College, great career being the best at whateverI wanted to be at the time.

WhenI was six it was an ice cream man. I mean, I was always happy when he came around. Made sense to me then.

Then, I wanted to be a writer. I never told anyone that though, even as young as I was I unconsiously knew I would be laughed at and made fun of. But I loved to read; could read for hours. It was escapism. I would follow along on fun adventures with the heroes of my stories. Usually kids with mommies who didn't throw things at the daddies who had taken up getting falling down drunk every day after work and then go storming out of the house. Not like my parents. I was smarter than the other kids, and had more of an imagination. I knew that, too. I thought 'I could do this'.

Architect was my big thing for a while. I liked math. I liked to draw. I liked to build things, create things. I'd often draw the floor plans of buildings or sketch my dream home. Not exact measurements or anything but just nice eight year old level architecture plans. You know the kind. My indoor pool was right next to the McDonalds kitchen in my dream home. Yeah, that kind.

I even had a brief thought of being a pilot until the neighborhood bully talked me into climbing up on top of his roof and nearly pushed me off the edge. Daddy had to come get me; I was too afraid to come down on my own. I decided I didn't like heights anymore.

Then Dad lost his job as an auto mechanic. He tried to pull it together. He really did. But times were tough. He only managed to get a part time low wage job at the garage a couple blocks from the house. I had about a month's worth of dreams of owning a father and son chain of auto repair shops with him.

Then he got drunk, and desperate, not necessarily in that order, and tried to rob a convienience store.

Shortly thereafter I stopped dreaming. Not long after...

I've believed they were right before.

My Mother. Her boyfriends. Trey. My new teachers. My new neighbors.

They said I was white trash. Scum. And I believed them.

I was made to. They wanted me to feel that way and I did. I thought I wouldn't amount to anything. I was in a way, waiting to die. Like so many of my friends were doing.

When your a pre-teen, or a young teenager, your dreams start to become more based in reality. My reality was being told I was stupid, brain-dead, just like my Father. I would end up like him, too. Yessiree. Just wait and see. Us Atwood men, we are good for nothing, lazy ass motherfuckers who bring nothing but pain to the people around us, as my Mother so kindly told me day after day after day.

The only things that made me feel alright were booze, cigarettes and girls. They didn't really make me feel good; They just took the pain and hoplessness away and made me numb.

I grew to cherish numb. Numb was alot better than what I would have been feeling.

My reality was being beaten up on the playground for being a goodey two-shoes or getting good grades in school.

Or Trey hitting me for "showing off", trying to "make him feel stupid".

I learned not to give time to thinking about my future, because really, who would want to see what I was headed for?

I wasn't scared of anything then. Not really. Not getting hurt, or being rejected, or of being a failure. Yes, I tried to avoid my Mother's slaps or AJ's fists, but that was more instinctual self-preservation than fear. Why get hit when you could avoid it?

I wasn't scared of dying. I was never suicidal. People who commit suicide feel pain, right? Well I was numb. Remember? I was just THERE. Trudging along, not really even trying.

I was a loner. Always have been now that I think about it. That's how I avoided trouble. Didn't go out to the parties too much; never felt the need to join a gang or my brothers' "crew". Just hung out with Theresa and a few other friends who were happy enough to get wasted on alcohol and sit in the backyard or go to the playground. That's how I think I made it to sixteen.

But my Brother didn't like loners. Wouldn't take no for an answer one night. AJ was in a bad mood anyways, and Theresa was off on a girl's night out somewhere. So I figured why the hell not?

Got caught stealing a car.

Best thing that ever happened to me.

Now?

Now I live with a loving family who cares about each other, and care about me. They don't belittle, they encourage. They don't hit, they hug.

Sometimes a little bit too much.

But that's okay.

I am a favorite of teachers in one of the most prestigious prep schools on the West Coast, in all AP courses.

My guidance counselor says if I keep my grades the way they are now all through high school, I could go pretty much anywhere I want. BE anything I want.

From an ice cream man, to a writer to an architect to an auto mechanic - anything.

I don't want to be a pilot anymore. Still haven't kicked that fear of heights.

But I feel things now. I feel happy and proud and loved and love for others. And pain, yes, but it doesn't seem so bad with all the other stuff.

And I hear it every day.

I deserve it.

I earned it.

I can do anything I put my mind to.

Kirsten. Sandy. Seth. Lindsay. Even Summer in her Summeresque way. My teachers.

They are the ones I believe are right, now.

I believe in what they say.

I believe in me.


End file.
